


Employee Benefits (and I'm not just talking about healthcare)

by hopeless_aromantic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dream Sex, Masturbation, One Shot, PWP, Voice Kink, Voyeurism, inappropriate employer/employee behavior lol, reader is described with cis female anatomy but no gendered terms are used, spoilers through s3? i think, uhhh what else..., yeah so who wants to fuck the nasty bastard man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 01:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_aromantic/pseuds/hopeless_aromantic
Summary: You are an employee of the Magnus Institute, having just received a promotion and an invitation to work as an archival assistant at the main branch in London. It’s a long way from home, but you love this job, spooky as it can be—and you’ve always wanted to live in the city. Your ridiculously hot boss is... well, let’s just call him a perk.





	Employee Benefits (and I'm not just talking about healthcare)

**Author's Note:**

> *binges tma in 2 weeks and immediately checks to see if there are any elias x reader fics* *there weren't. there is now.*   
feel like i should apologize to the rusty quill folks for this one. especially ben meredith. im so sorry.

The atmosphere here is... different from the one at your old branch. The librarians and artifacts folks are friendly enough, but the other archival assistants are... strange. The archivist herself, Gertrude, is straight-up intimidating; and although you always make a point to smile and be polite when you deliver your follow-up research to her, you never feel any warmth in return. All in all, work friends are hard to come by.

And then there’s the matter of... your boss. Elias Bouchard is the recently promoted head of the institute, and he very much looks the part with his suit and tie and slicked back dark hair. There’s an intensity to him that makes you nervous—on the few occasions that you’ve had to talk to him, his gaze had made you incredibly self-conscious, despite the smile on his face. You feel like he can see right through you. Your anxiety is made all the worse by the fact that you find him incredibly handsome—and he clearly knows he’s attractive, judging by his confident demeanor. Luckily for your poor nerves, though, you don’t see him often, as he rarely leaves his office on the floor above yours.

You _do_ think about him, though, more than you’d care to admit. You can’t help it, really. You’ve been awfully lonely since you moved to London, and, well... Elias is just your type. Tall, dark, and handsome, not to mention mysterious; and his voice... It’s not your fault if your thoughts drift toward him in the, ah, heat of the moment. Not that you’d ever make any sort of move on him. He’s much too intimidating for that, and he’s your boss, for fuck’s sake. It would be entirely inappropriate. Which is why it’s your own little secret—no one else ever has to know what you fantasize about at night, every once in a while. 

A knock sounds at your office door, startling you out of your reverie, and you scramble to appear as if you hadn’t just been daydreaming about your boss. “Come in,” you call. 

The door creaks open, and a familiar, sonorous voice rings out. “Ah, are you busy?”

Your face flushes as Elias steps into your office. What terrible timing.

_Be cool. It’s not like he knows you’ve been thinking about him or anything_. You fix the usual smile to your face and try your best to meet his intense stare. “Not terribly, is there something I can do for you?”

Elias grins, and if you didn’t know better, you might even call it predatorial. But no, that’s just your paranoia talking. He’s just smiling. “Yes, actually.” His voice is low and smooth as always, and it incites a strange fire in your gut. “I’ve been cleaning some old statements out of my office, and I could use some help moving them all.”

“Oh! Of course.” 

You follow him out of your office and up the stairs, the empty hallways seeming slightly smaller with Elias by your side, like the walls are crowding you against him. There’s still plenty of space between you, of course, but somehow it feels like he’s standing too close. Just your nerves again, you suppose. 

His office is... messier than you’ve ever seen it. Stacks of old statements are precariously balanced in towering piles all around, and you get the feeling that any bit of wind or movement would topple them all into a huge mess. You give a slightly incredulous look to Elias, who simply shrugs. But organization is practically your middle name, and you never back down from a little challenge. You crack your knuckles. “What do you need me to do?”

All through the process of moving the stacks of papers down to the archival storage room, you could swear that you feel Elias’s gaze heavy on your back. It makes the fine hairs on your neck stand up, but every time you sneak a glance toward him, he’s not looking. What is it about him that makes you feel so paranoid? Is it just your attraction to him, or is it your intuition trying to tell you something? 

As you ponder this in your head, distracted, you stumble slightly, your foot catching on the rug underneath his desk and chairs. Just before you go tumbling backwards into a stack of papers, however, a hand braces against the small of your back—Elias stops your fall. 

“Careful,” he says lowly, not removing his hand as you right yourself.

A blush ignites your cheeks and neck, tinging your whole face a bright pink and sending a fire through your veins. The small point of contact tingles like an electric shock. “S-Sorry!” You stutter, spinning around to face him.

He’s several inches taller than you, and this close, you have to look up to meet his eyes. They’re... captivating, dark like a storm, pulling you in, holding you frozen in his stare.

That smile makes your stomach turn, but not in an entirely unpleasant way.

“It’s quite alright,” Elias says, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “We don’t want you getting hurt, do we?”

You open your mouth to say something in return, but nothing will come out but a breathless laugh.

And all at once, Elias takes a step back, professional distance returned, and you’re released from his gaze.

“Right. If you could bring this last stack down to Gertrude, we’re all done here.”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, shaken and, quite frankly, aroused. You accept the stack of papers and leave Elias’s office, trying to catch your breath and berating yourself for losing it in the first place. _Way to be subtle_.

Gertrude accepts the statements with her usual icy demeanor, but it doesn’t bother you; your mind is elsewhere.

God, you can’t wait to go home for the night. You have some... things to attend to.

\---

You’ve been dreaming about him. They’ve been... unusually vivid dreams, waking you up in a cold sweat with a moan on your lips and the phantom feeling of hands on your skin, and this particular night’s dream is no different.

You’re pinned beneath him, his fingers tracing the curves of your body, his watchful eyes cataloguing every twitch of your muscles, every little sigh of pleasure his touch elicits from your lips. He holds you captive with that stare, those eyes full of mystery and darkness, and his grin is like a shark’s as he slides his fingers between your thighs and they come away wet.

With a high-pitched whine, you shut your eyes tight, but Elias makes a tutting noise and removes his hands.

“Look at me,” he commands, voice deep and utterly salacious in a way that makes your toes curl.

You look at him, meeting that impossibly dark gaze again, and that shark’s grin widens.

“I knew you’d be fun to tease,” he says, “but look at you. So desperate for anything I’m willing to give.”

He drags his fingers against you again, warm and slick, and your breath hitches in your throat.

“You’re so full of want and fear, so very _human_,” he practically sighs. His eyes glitter with something like malice, and you shudder. His words might scare you, _should_ scare you, but the fingers that keep nudging against your clit feel so good, you can’t dwell on it.

His slow rhythm is infuriating, his teasing touch tantalizing, only succeeding in making you want more, more, _more_; but you can’t seem to open your mouth to beg, to plead for him to move faster, harder.

Then again, you’ve never been good at lucid dreaming.

Dream Elias seems to understand, though, as he smirks villainously, pushing two fingers inside you and pulling them out with deliberate languor, his heavy gaze tracking the panting breaths you take in, the moan building on the tip of your tongue. He slides back in, curls his fingers, your back arches—

And then, there’s nothing.

“_Shit_,” you curse aloud into the empty bedroom of your cramped apartment as you’re mercilessly jolted from your sleep. _Just when it was getting good_. Your head falls back against your pillow and you close your eyes with a groan. The ache between your legs is so fierce, it’s nearly agonizing, the echoed dream memories of Elias’s voice still ringing in your ears, although he’s certainly never said such strange—or dirty—things to you in real life. With a heavy sigh you resign yourself to using your waking imagination, giving up any sense of dignity you might have once had as you touch yourself, unable to stop your thoughts from picking up where your dream left off—and Elias’s name falls from your lips like a prayer.

\---

You’ve been seeing him more often at work. Or, maybe, it’s the baader-meinhof phenomenon: you’ve been thinking about him, so of course you’ll notice him more often. Still, every time you nod politely and give him what you desperately hope is a normal, totally non-suspicious smile, his gaze cuts right through you. You know it’s just your paranoia—how could it be otherwise?—but god, you can’t shake the feeling that he Knows. And it _has_ to be wishful thinking, but... he seems to be having fun teasing you. He’s started saying good morning to you regularly as he passes you in the hallway, and the dark edge to his velvet voice almost makes you freeze in place, his smile—always more of a smirk, really—widens each time you blush and stutter a greeting in response. He’s called you into his office a couple of times since the stacks of paper, and each time, you feel those eyes boring into you, like he’s seeing your thoughts, your soul. The paranoia is really getting to you, obviously, and now you’re even getting jumpy—flinching at every knock on your door, every ring of your phone, your whole body reacting every time you hear Elias’s voice. 

You’re going crazy. And you can tell no one. 

“I suppose you know why I called you in here today,” Elias says calmly, his hands steepled on his desk.

Your eyes dart nervously around the room. No stacks to move. No folders to bring downstairs. “I... no?”

He frowns, just slightly, and your paranoia spikes. 

But the expression changes back to a polite smile before you’re ever really sure you saw it at all. “Please, sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him. 

Almost as if your body moves without your input, you sit. It’s a strange feeling, but your anxiety about the whole situation overrides your ability to think about it too much. 

“How are you finding the job, so far?” he asks pleasantly.

You’re going to tell him it’s great, everything is hunky-dory, but as you open your mouth to speak, the words that come tumbling out are a little more... truthful.

“I like the research I’m doing,” you tell him, “but it’s been a bit of an adjustment. I don’t know anyone in London, and people around here don’t seem to eager to make new friends. I’ve also been very nervous and paranoid because I can’t stop thinking about you—“ you choke on the words, attempting to stop them from falling from your lips. But they do.

But Elias doesn’t seem to react to this news, even as you blush a fierce red and attempt to stutter some sort of apology for your words. How on earth did you let that slip?

“You still haven’t realized,” he says, with an almost affectionate sigh. “A pity, really.”

Realized... what? You open your mouth to ask what the hell he’s talking about, but he cuts you off.

“You joined the Magnus Institute after an encounter with what you believe to be a particularly powerful spirit, correct?”

“Yes?” You squeak. How does he know that?

“So you very much believe in the paranormal.”

“I... yeah?”

“It’s truly amazing what the human mind will choose to chalk up to simple paranoia, isn’t it?”

You feel as if puzzle pieces are desperately trying to fit together in your mind, but whatever picture they’re building is still obscured. You’re becoming more uneasy by the second. 

He sighs again. “I’ll cut to the chase, I suppose. I know what you think of me.”

Well, you did just say it out loud, but dread pools in the pit of your stomach nonetheless. You fidget, beginning to apologize for your strange behavior.

“I mean that I know your thoughts.” He tilts his head, smirks. “And dreams.”

You choke slightly, face reddening further, if that’s at all possible, and ice water surges through your veins.

“The dreams, of course, are partly my own doing; but for the most part I’ve just been enjoying the show.” He spreads his hands. “I don’t often come across someone who so acutely fears the idea of someone knowing their thoughts, and yet controls them so little.”

Rooted to the spot, your mind reels, but you still try desperately to recover what little dignity you have left. “So... you’re a telepath, then?”

Elias laughs darkly, and the ice water boils as that aching fire spreads through you all at once. “Something like that, I suppose.”

Of fucking course. Isn’t that just your luck? A worst fear come true—your unfairly hot boss is a fucking mind reader.

“But, I must say,” he continues, cocking his head, that dark grin doing some terrible things to your imagination. “Your thoughts have been more... distracting. Than I anticipated.”

You don’t know what to say at this point, feeling too many things to commit to any single emotion. But you’re still sitting, fixated on his eyes and the glimmer of mischief you find in them.

“So, you see, I have a proposition for you.”

Are you dreaming? Maybe you’re dreaming. Because this sounds an awful lot like a setup to a bad porno.

Elias chuckles. “You’re not dreaming. And if this is the setup to a porno, I’d rather hope that it’s at least a good porno.”

Damn. He really is a telepath. A telepath that, apparently, wants to fuck you.

“Oh,” he says, “I’m not going to fuck you. At least... not yet.”

Blushing to the tips of your ears, you make a questioning noise. Did he just call you up here to... gloat?

“_I’m_ not going to fuck you,” he repeats, lifting an eyebrow and smirking. “_You’re_ going to fuck yourself. I’m just going to watch.”

“Ah.” You exhale, that terrible, wonderful fire burning bright inside you. So he’s a telepath... who’s into voyeurism. Okay. Yeah. Fuck it. You’re down.

“So uh. Is this like, a here and now thing? Or are you thinking later...?”

Elias blinks, like that’s the stupidest question he’s ever heard.

And yeah, now that you’ve said it aloud, it does sound pretty dumb.

“Do you always talk this much?” Elias asks.

“Only when I’m nervous,” you reply. “Wait, are you making me tell the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay. That makes sense, I guess. Did you make me sit down earlier? Like, can you make me do—“

Exasperated, he sighs. “Unbutton your pants, please.”

“Right. Yup. Okay.” You’re already doing it.

“Touch yourself,” he commands. And you do.

Hand slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, you find yourself already very aroused, and as you drag two fingers between your folds, you feel the slick of it coating your fingers.

Elias, the bastard, smirks. “Hmm, eager, aren’t we?”

You grit your teeth around an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know what you expected, talking to me with that voice of yours.”

“Ah, right,” his grin turns downright devilish. “You _really_ like my voice, don’t you? That’s what you like to imagine, when you think of me and touch yourself like this. Am I wrong?”

“No,” you breathe. He knows he’s not wrong. 

He hums, and a jolt runs through you at the pleased sound. “Let’s see, what else do you like about me?”

You exhale shakily as that ever-present feeling of being watched intensifies, a sort of barely-there tingling sensation in your mind that, right now at least, is more pleasant than paranoia. You know, now, that it means he’s sifting through your thoughts, and you know that you’ve felt it before—the knowledge that he’s been listening to your thoughts for the past... however long he’s been doing it... is much more exciting than it has any right to be. You should probably be more worried about your privacy, should probably be terrified at the implications of this, but the way Elias is staring at you deviously, watching as you begin to pleasure yourself, overrides any sense of self preservation that you may have and replaces it with pure arousal, coiling hot and insistent in your abdomen. Thoughts and fantasies come rushing to the forefront of your mind: the way your attention so often rests on his long, elegant fingers, or the blush that rises to your cheeks when he slyly fusses with his tie. The nights you’ve thought about his lips, hungry and insistent against your neck, your chest, your thighs—and how many times you’ve gotten carried away on the idea of his tongue, clever and practiced, bringing you to the edge again and again and again.

Elias clicks his tongue. “Naughty,” he grins. 

You bite back a whine.

“Oh, please,” he says, “don’t stifle yourself on the account of the others. The walls are thick—no one will hear you.”

A shaky sigh escapes your lips, and Elias’s grin widens. “Good,” he intones.

With deliberate slowness, you bring two fingers to rub gentle circles around your clit, already sensitive due to just how turned on you are, just how much you’ve fantasized about—well, more or less exactly this moment.

Elias keeps talking, his voice low and steady and sending sparks through your system as your touch brings that first jolt of pleasure rushing through you with a twitch of your thighs.

You grasp the chair beneath you with the other hand, knuckles whitening as you attempt to anchor yourself, a ship on open ocean; Elias the oncoming storm.

He sits behind his desk—so far away—and watches. You feel the way he notes every hitch of your breath, every rush of warmth across your skin, every jump of your muscles; there’s no visual cue that he’s paying such close attention, but you know, from the shifting of that focus in your mind, that barely-there feeling of sharing that brainspace, that he’s cataloguing everything, filing it away for later use. 

“You’re learning quickly,” he notes with a flash of his teeth—oh god, you want to feel those teeth on your skin—and an only-slightly-condescending laugh. “That’s good.” He practically purrs the word, and it shivers down your spine and drags a moan from your lips.

Just a little more pressure from your fingers, a little faster, still not looking away from those eyes that have you entranced, captured, and you can’t stop your hips from jerking upward, seeking something that isn’t there. The wave of pleasure that sweeps through you has another panting groan falling from your mouth, the insistent heat in your core tightening further, stretching taut like a rubber band.

Elias’s black satin voice curls and hovers like a dense fog over your skin, electrifying your nerves and sending you shuddering, all too close to release far too soon.

“Are you so ready to come for me?” He asks, the self-gratification clear in his tone. “Just a few minutes of touching yourself and you’re already tipping over the edge, aren’t you.” A statement, not a question; he knows.

“Elias, I—_ah_,” words abandon you like they do so often when you dream of him, but you feel certain that you won’t be jolted awake to find yourself alone, not this time. “Please,” you choke out, “I’m gonna—”

He hums his approval with half-lidded eyes, smiling dangerously as you begin to fall apart, hips twitching, fingers stuttering, breath panting as the wave builds and builds and builds—

And all at once it crashes, and you come with a cry, heart pounding as the tension within you snaps and pleasure washes all thoughts from your mind. The aftershocks run through you in shudders, and you keep your fingers braced against yourself for a few more moments as they run their course, deliciously sensitive in the immediate aftermath of orgasm. Your head lolls back against the chair as you catch your breath.

That damn smile lingers in Elias’s voice. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

With a breathy laugh, you look down at yourself: clearly disheveled, still panting, collapsed in his office chair, thoroughly blissed out. “Yeah, I think you know the answer to that one.”

“Everything you hoped for, then?”

“I mean, besides the fact that I wish you had been the one touching me?” _Damn truth powers_.

But Elias only laughs. “Oh, I think that would be better saved for next time, don’t you?”

You silently berate yourself for the way you perk up at that. “Next time?”

“I’ll certainly be calling you up here again, so long as that interests you.”

He knows it interests you. You know he knows it interests you. You nod, blushing to the tips of your ears. 

“Right. Well, then, I believe we both have work to do?”

You button your pants back up and stand on shaky legs, suddenly bashful as the weight of what you’ve just done settles on your shoulders, and eager to get to the bathroom to clean yourself off a bit. 

Although, you get the feeling that it isn’t quite ‘work’ that Elias has to get to, either.

You clear your throat. “Right. I’ll, uh... be seeing you?”

He smirks. “Yes, I imagine you will.”

**Author's Note:**

> haHAAA elias is terrible and i like him so much. *ben wyatt voice* it's about the voice kink.  
will i ever write more? maybe... but i cannot promise anything....  
Anyway i really hope you enjoyed this! Come hmu on [tumblr!](https://hopeless-ar0mantic.tumblr.com/)


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